


20/20

by FlyYouFools (MK47)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MK47/pseuds/FlyYouFools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot: Regina needs a favor from The Sheriff, an opportunity Emma uses to both their advantage. This summary is sucky and vague because I don't want to tip my hand, but trust me, you will love this fluff. SQ is endgame, as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	20/20

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story was written for bemyserendipity, who was the 300th reviewer for If The Blazer Fits. It takes place post-S3A, let’s say, a year in the future. Post-Neverland, no curse reappearance, life goes back to normal. Thanks as always to Alaska829Snow for the beta and encouragement.

“Soooo,” Emma drawled teasingly, swallowing a forkful of perfect mashed potatoes. “What exactly is it you want from me?

Her wineglass halted halfway to her mouth, Regina’s eyes widened as she froze like a deer in headlights.

“What do you mean?” The brunette tried to sound half-innocent, half-insulted at the question and pulled off neither.

“I mean it’s April 22 and I am eating a full turkey dinner.” Emma pointed to all the plates and bowls decorating the dining room table. “Potatoes. Stuffing. _Real_ cranberry sauce. Gravy. And there’s a pumpkin pie cooling in the kitchen.”

“You should be thankful,” Regina quipped.

“Oh, I certainly am. The trouble is, I only get to enjoy a spread like this two days a year.”

Once Regina discovered a full-blown turkey dinner was Emma’s favorite meal, it became an annual tradition on her birthday, the brunette’s gift to her.

Sensing she was on the right track, Emma enjoyed the upper hand, showboating like an attorney on the verge of a conviction at closing arguments.

“And seeing as it is neither Thanksgiving _nor_ my birthday, I’m wondering why you cooked me my very favorite meal. And went to considerable trouble to do so.” She smiled warmly, returning to her regular tone. “Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“So, Regina, the question remains: What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?”

Regina offered a slow, sarcastic clap, but her smile was genuine; she knew she was busted. “Brava, Sheriff, or should I call you The Great Detective?”

“Emma is just fine.”

Regina sighed. “Alright, you got me.”

“Ha! Yes!”

“It seems I may have failed my vision test at my license renewal earlier this week.”

“Is that why you were in Augusta?”

Regina nodded, swallowing the remainder of the wine in her glass.

Leaning toward her dinner companion, Emma waited for the rest of the story. “And?”

“And what? I failed. I have 10 business days to get glasses and re-test or my license is suspended.”

“The problem being…”

“I don’t want to wear glasses and I don’t want to be forced to wear them when I drive. And I _need_ to drive.”

Emma nodded her head slowly as if she were pondering Regina’s predicament, but she knew the Registry was right, the woman was as blind as a bat anywhere past 8 feet. She bit back a chuckle remembering an incident last fall. She was sitting on the couch watching a Sox playoff game with Henry, only to have Regina come in, watch an inning and ask which one was Tom Brady. If she couldn’t tell the difference between football and baseball from 12 feet away, the woman needed specs and stat.

_“Mom, that’s not Brady!” Henry laughed._

_“It certainly is. He is very handsome.”_

_Emma eyed the brunette, looking for a wine glass or any evidence of inebriation. How much wine did she have at dinner? She was certain the woman knew the difference between the sports; Emma watched at least one football game with them each Sunday._

_“This is baseball, Regina. Do you see a goal post?”_

_“Right there,” she noted, defensively._

“That’s the Green Monster! A giant wall!”

_Emma stood up and led Regina closer to the TV. “See?”_

_“Oh…yes, you’re right.”_

_“Seriously, are you OK?”_

_“I’m fine, dear. My eyes must be getting tired.”_

_Emma flopped back on the couch and patted the empty cushion between her and their son._

_“Then rest them here.”_

“So how can I help?”

“I was reading up on the Registry Web site and it says a driver can retake his or her eye exam with local law enforcement.”

“Did you just bat your eyelashes at me?”

“ _Please_ give me the test, Emma.”

“Oh, I’ll give it to you and you will fail, sweetheart.”

Both women lightened a shade at the endearment. Neither was sure what shocked them more: the fact that it rolled off Emma’s tongue with such ease or that it sounded so natural, so right. “I mean, you’re wicked nearsighted, I’ve seen it myself. If you fail the test, you fail it. Just get glasses and retake it.”

Emma dug back into her dinner, carefully loading her fork with the perfect combination of turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and potatoes before plopping it in her mouth. _Mmmmm_. She closed her eyes in food nirvana. When she reopened them and looked across the table, Regina sat…

“Oh my God, are you pouting?”

“Please?”

The blonde sighed. “Are you going to withhold pumpkin pie if I refuse?”

An eyebrow cocked in response.

“Alright. I’ll give you the test, but I _won’t_ rig it. I tell you what: If you don’t pass, I’ll go with you to pick out glasses, make sure you don’t look like a dork. Come down to the station Monday, OK?”

Regina nodded, clearly disappointed.

“What now?”

“Why won’t you just say I passed?”

Emma held up a finger, requesting a timeout while she finished chewing.

“Look, normally I would help you out in any way I could - if it didn’t hurt anyone. But you are seriously nearsighted. If I got you your license and God forbid you got in an accident and hurt someone – or yourself – I would never forgive myself.”

Emma looked down, mumbling the last bit. “I care about you.”

She looked up to see a stunned woman. “And your cooking,” she quickly added. “Do I still get pie?”

Emma dodged a balled-up napkin that came hurtling at her head. The brunette headed into the kitchen, her guest’s hopeful question trailing behind: “YOU’RE GOING TO GET THE PIE, RIGHT?”

XXXX

“All right, ma’am, right here.”

Emma gently maneuvered Regina by the shoulders and had her stand in front of Storybrooke’s most-famous - and only - jail cell, while she walked 20 feet away, a piece of masking tape marking her spot.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” The brunette didn’t sound as sure as her statement.

Emma pulled out a large white chart and turned it over, holding it up at eye level. She leaned over and read from the state manual that was sitting open on her desk.

“OK, Ms. Mills. Please cover your right eye and read the lowest line you can see clearly.”

“O…U…G…O…O…N…A…This is not the standard Snellen eye chart,” she protested.

“Ooh, someone did their homework. You probably stayed up all night trying to memorize it, which is why I devised a new one. Which I had OK’d by Dr. McMillan.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

“Very good, please read the line below it.”

Regina squinted so hard it looked painful. “B…A…I…E…W…1…I…H…N…You’re enjoying this too much,” she accused.

“I did think about wearing a lab coat today but I couldn’t score one in time. OK, cover your left eye and repeat - read the lowest line you can see clearly.”

Regina reread the same lines, the former perfect, the latter still nearly all wrong.

“Can you go any lower?”

“It’s a blur,” she admitted sheepishly.

Emma checked the book to see how the mayor’s performance translated, then flipped the eye chart to the blank side and placed it behind her desk.

“What, that’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“And what is your professional opinion?” she inquired archly.

Emma sat on the edge of her desk and waved Regina closer. When the brunette got within reach, she comfortingly placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You need a dog and a cane.”

“Emma!” She playfully smacked the Sheriff on the arm in disappointment.

The blonde burst out laughing at her own joke. “Ow! Seriously, you are mega blind. You’ve got, like, 20/70 vision in both eyes. You have to go see McMillan and get a real exam and glasses.”

Regina looked as is if Emma had popped her last balloon.

“I swear, I would do anything for you, but letting you drive with your vision is dangerous. I mean it, I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

Regina was rattled by the stark confession and quickly tried to change the subject. “Very well, you said you’d go with me to pick out glasses?”

“Sure. But _after_ your exam. By a real doctor, not just a hot one.” Emma grinned at her humility. “I can’t mother my child with a woman wearing nerd glasses with tape in the middle. And no hipster frames! You are _not_ Buddy Holly.”

“Who?”

“Good, let’s keep it that way.”

Regina looked downtrodden as she sat at the desk across from the blonde.

“Seriously, are you OK? You look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

“That is a terrible metaphor.” The pair sat in silence, Emma could tell Regina was thinking by the way she bit her lip.

“It’s vanity,” she confessed. “I was always told as a child that unattractive, old people wore glasses. I worried that this would be another example in my long line of failures.”

“Who the hell told you that?”

Regina’s voice was brittle as she choked out an answer so predictable Emma later realized she should have seen it coming from miles away. “My mother.”

“Dammit!” Emma barked out a frustrated cry while Regina reared back a touch, surprised at her friend’s visceral reaction.

Rolling her chair toward the brunette, Emma leaned forward and held out her hands. Regina cautiously repeated her action, gently grasping them.

“Look at me.” Emma’s voice was serious, yet soft, as she grabbed Regina’s gaze and held it. “You are the most attractive woman I have ever met. And what makes you so gorgeous is not your body or your face – which are bangin’, by the way – but what’s inside.”

Regina blushed to the roots of her hair, she had never been affirmed so intimately by another in her life.

“You are smart and kind. An outstanding mayor. The best mother our son could have. And an even better friend.”

Regina dipped her head, overcome by the intensity of Emma’s declaration.

“And, seriously, I _hate_ your mother. I hate that she’s still causing psychic damage long after she’s gone.” Emma refrained from her usual colorful statements like, “dirt nap”, “worm food” or plain old “dead”. Cora was a psychotic bitch like no other, but she was still the woman’s mother and the loss hurt.

Regina chuckled at the accuracy of the blonde’s statement. “But I know no one ever really gets over those childhood trauma things, so it’s, like, normal.”

Heart warming at Emma’s bizarre diagnosis, Regina finally spoke. “Thank you.”

A friendly warning followed. “Promise me, any time you’re feeling down, that you will call me. I am an expert in feeling down _and_ in childhood trauma. I hold dual degrees,” she bragged.

“Promise.” Regina squeezed Emma’s hands before releasing them…reluctantly.

Emma pushed off and rolled back to her desk, reaching for the handset and a business card.

“Here, call McMillan’s office right now. See if he can squeeze you in.”

XXXX

Five days later, Regina Mills stood in front of the Storybrooke jail cell once more, everything now decidedly more in focus.

“Alright, ma’am, let’s try this again. You know the drill, right eye covered, lowest line you can read clearly.”

Regina wondered why Emma’s voice was so tight and tremulous. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she coughed, clearing her suddenly closing throat. “I’m good.” Emma had resumed her spot from the previous exam, perched on the edge of her desk. But this time, Regina watched the blonde’s right leg bounce up and down restlessly like a paint can in a mixer.

“You look nervous.”

“Nah, I’m cool. You really, ah, you look super cute in those specs.”

Emma immediately thought about the pair’s visit to the optometrist. She had busied herself trying on aviators and making duck faces at the mirror while Regina studiously tried on frame after frame.

“What do you think?”

_Emma turned around, now in vintage Wayfarers, and had to choke back a gasp at the sight before her. The thin black frames complimented her face perfectly, somehow making her even more attractive than she already was – a feat Emma previously thought impossible._

_“You look awesome.”_

_“How very ’80s of you. I’ll take them, regardless.”_

Regina smiled. “Thank you, dear. I actually like them quite a bit. I’m not sure what I was so worried about.”

“I told you I wouldn’t let you walk out with granny glasses. Oh, shit, don’t tell Granny I made fun of her glasses.”

Emma let out a ragged breath, feeling as if she was about to step off a cliff. “OK, right eye, lowest line, go.”

The blonde thought there was a distinct possibility she might hyperventilate as she turned the eye chart over. What was a great idea 5 days ago suddenly caused her to have second thoughts.

Seconds seemed like hours as Regina focused on the chart.

“A…G…O...O…D…I...D…E…A…T…O…O…I..”

Regina stopped midway. “This is a very long line.”

“Keep going.”

Regina announced the letters with confidence, but zero comprehension. “C…H…E…C…K…E…D.”

She looked expectantly at Emma, who checked the manual once more.

“Shit, Line 8? That’s 20/20. Perfect,” she smiled. “Keep going. Why don’t you, uh, read the whole thing from the top? Just to be sure.”

Emma raised the chart again, this time covering her face. She couldn’t look.

“I…L…I…K…E…Y…O…”

Regina squinted at the eye chart, but this time it was in confusion. Something was off. _If she’s trying to trick me, I…_

The brunette stopped midway through her mental threat as she suddenly viewed the chart as a whole, not line-by-line, the intent now in crystal-clear focus

 

She gasped, heat rushing to her cheeks. Emma slowly lowered the chart just below her eyes, peeking over anxiously, waiting for a reaction.

“Is this a joke?” Regina whispered, praying it wasn’t.

One look at Emma, her soft eyes so wide and sincere, provided the answer.

Emma placed the chart on the floor, propping it against her desk. “No,” she began wobbly. “I’ve…I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time, I just never had the guts to or knew how, exactly.”

“You couldn’t just ask me to dinner?”

 “I was too chicken.”

“So you created an entire eye chart?” Regina laughed at the absurdity of Emma’s logic. “How was this any easier than eight simple words?”

 The brunette watched her prospective girlfriend try to work out the eight-word puzzle in her head, to no avail. Regina crossed the room, a smile on her face.

“It’s ‘Would you like to go out with me?’” she noted cheekily.

Emma nodded, still unsure, her voice shook slightly. “So, would you?” Deep green eyes waited for an answer, wide with hope.

“Yes,” she husked.

A warm smile enveloped both the women’s faces, until Regina had a thought.

“Wait, is this a legitimate eye chart? Do I genuinely have 20/20 vision?”

 “With your corrective lenses, yes, you do.” Emma sidled over to the brunette and bumped her shoulder playfully.

“Did you really get Dr. McMillan to approve this chart?”

“Yup, I used his software to put it together; it was crazy embarrassing. But I wanted to help you. And I really wanted to ask you out.” 

Regina stepped well into Emma’s personal space and held her gaze. She cocked her head and began to lean in.

“I’ve never kissed a woman in glasses,” Emma grinned.

A wicked smile graced the brunette’s face. “Well,” she began, bringing her lips so close to Emma’s the blonde could feel them move. “It’s about time you did.” 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews sincerely appreciated. 
> 
> The prompt: “I was wondering if you could do a one-shot where Emma sees Regina for the first time in either jeans and her glasses or one of her dresses as a queen?”
> 
> I did a queen dress story in “Old World Charm,” so glasses sounded like fun.


End file.
